


Home with Your Heart

by Pegasus_Eridana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A bit of dub-con, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitute!Castiel, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegasus_Eridana/pseuds/Pegasus_Eridana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Dean tells Castiel to leave the bunker, the former angel has to find a way to survive on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home with Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> What ho, me again with another drabble. This was anonymously requested on tumblr and is a little more angsty than I usually go. Luckily however, my gorgeous friend and editor Ismene_Jane has a talent for angst and I'm pretty sure wrote at least a third of what you are about to read. She is glorious. 
> 
> A couple of points: this is set after Dean asks Cas to leave the bunker, and in this version Ezekiel proved to be Ezekiel, and healed Sam then left.  
> Also, I've tagged dub-con in the tags because Cas becomes a prostitute in order to eat, not because he wants to. However, if anyone thinks I should bump it up to rape/non-con or put a more obvious trigger warning, let me know. 
> 
> Enjoy!

After Dean told Castiel that he couldn’t stay at the bunker, and explained that it was the main condition under which Ezekiel would heal Sam, the former angel wandered, lost and devastated. He did this for several days, until the meagre amount of money that he had scrounged and saved had been spent on whatever was cheapest at the gas stations he passed. At each one, he would try to hitch a ride with kindly-disposed drivers, like the man who had helped him when he was newly human.

Castiel soon learned that not all men were so kind.

The first time it happened, Castiel, legs shaky from hunger, had clambered up next to the driver and they had set off. Everything seemed normal, until the driver pulled over on a deserted stretch of road and turned to Castiel, smirking.

“I…do you wish me to get out here?” asked Castiel tentatively. “I thought you were happy to take me to the next town, but if that has changed then I’m sure I can walk.” He knew that he was lying; and would instead resign himself to a night spent outside on the cold, hard ground with an empty belly, but this driver didn’t need to know that.

“Not quite, sugar,” drawled the driver. “Just thought ya might want to show me how much y‘preciate me givin’ you a lift like this.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Castiel replied, shifting nervously at the look in the other man’s eye.

“Let me make it clear for ya, honey,” the driver replied, unzipping his jeans and drawing out his cock, giving it a couple of languid strokes. “I want ya to let me put my big cock in your pretty mouth.”

“No,” said Castiel. “If you want me to get out now, I will, but I won’t do…that. Thank you for the lift.” He moved to get out of the truck, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“I’ll pay ya,” the driver said. “Twenty bucks if ya let me use yer mouth.”

That gave Castiel pause. Twenty dollars, used sparingly, might prevent starvation for another two, maybe even three days.

He looked up again at the waiting man, and his achingly empty stomach felt like it was gnawing at him from the inside out in order to get some kind of nourishment.

“Alright,” said Castiel. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

***

**One month later**

Castiel staggered out of the alleyway and spat out a mouthful of blood. The John (for Castiel had learned, among many other things, that that was the correct name for a man who picked up a prostitute for anonymous sex) had liked it rough, and had paid extra for complete control over Castiel’s body.  Castiel gingerly probed his teeth with his tongue. Thankfully none were loose; the blood must just be from biting his tongue when the John had hit him.

It wasn’t the first time Castiel had ended up bloody after an alleyway assignation. There had been that man a week ago who hadn’t wanted to pay (Castiel had made sure in the end that he did) and the guy before that who had felt the need to prove his heterosexuality by beating on Castiel despite the fact that he had been happy to have Castiel on his knees with his mouth open beforehand.

And of course there was the occasional monster. Castiel still had his angel blade and was perfectly able to take on the creatures who lurked in alleyways to prey on unsuspecting prostitutes and their clients

In general, though, it was easier than Castiel might have imagined (if he had ever been inclined to imagine such a thing). He may not be an angel anymore, but he could take care of himself, and anyone trying to take advantage of him soon learned that. He had also discovered that his body (for it was only his body now; when Lucifer had killed him, Castiel had made sure that Jimmy’s soul was at rest in Heaven) was a very appealing one, and he never wanted for customers. He even took more clients than he needed to, in order to earn extra money that he could then give to others deserving of it: the elderly homeless man who slept on the street corner, the prostitute who had two small children to feed at home, and more. Castiel was neither needful nor deserving of extra money, and he hoped that in this small act of kindness he might be able to begin to atone for all the mistakes he had made.

The act of sex itself was not something that Castiel enjoyed particularly. He thought that perhaps with a loving and gentle partner, where there was an emotional connection, things would be different, but as a business transaction it left him entirely cold. If a John paid attention to Castiel’s pleasure then he might find completion, but most were only out to find their own satisfaction, and couldn’t care less how Castiel found the experience. He soon found that the best way to deal with it was to retreat inside his own head while man after man was using his body. Most often he would think of Dean, sometimes wishing that it was Dean inside him, easing the way with loving words; sometimes thinking of how his life as a human would have been different if he still had Dean as a friend. But it was more than that: Dean was _home_ , Dean was safety, Dean was everything.

And Castiel had ruined that, too.

***

A few days after the John who had left Castiel’s mouth bloody but his pockets full, Castiel was lying on the bed of the motel room that he had taken his latest John to. The man had left right after the act but the room was paid up for the night so Castiel stayed. He was pulled out of his thoughts by his phone buzzing. Dean had equipped him with one “for emergencies” when he left the bunker, but so far Castiel had not used it, the only people he would call being the ones who had told him to leave.

Tentatively, he picked up the phone and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Cas? Cas, is that you?” The voice hit Castiel like a bulldozer ramming into his torso and squashing his lungs and heart. It suddenly felt very difficult to breathe, the sound of that beloved voice, the voice that had called to Castiel in despair, in hope, in friendship, in disappointment. Castiel managed to force out his words.

“It’s me. Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas. So how – how’ve you been?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” Castel replied, deeming it unnecessary to go into the sordid details. “How are you? Is Sam’s health improving?”

“Yeah, he – he’s doin’ good,” replied Dean, the relief sounding clearly in his voice. “That’s actually why ‘m calling.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Castiel immediately asked. _Let me redeem myself to you._ “I could-”

“Come back,” Dean blurted, interrupting Castiel’s flow of speech. Castiel froze, thinking he must have heard wrong. But no, Dean was still talking, saying the same things which all boiled down to the same meaning:

“Come home, Castiel.”

***

Cas stepped through the entrance to the bunker and dropped his duffel bag with a sigh. The bus journey has been long, hot and bumpy, and thus painful seeing as the John who had provided the money had been into spanking with both his hands and his belt. The cuts had healed, but the bruises were still very sore.

Castiel was immediately enveloped in a warm hug – obviously Sam, then. He tried not to wince as Sam squeezed bruised ribs (from the John whose money had gone towards feeding Castiel and a stray cat that Castiel had found), and gingerly patted Sam’s back.

“Hello, Sam. I trust you are restored to health?”

“Yeah, thanks, Cas,” Sam replied. “Dean got this angel called Ezekiel to come and fix me up, and once he’d got me good as new he left. I haven’t quite gotten over Dean doing that, but we’re getting there.”

“Quit moaning, Sammy, you’re still alive, aren’t you?” Dean said as he came up to greet Castiel with an aborted arm movement and then a hearty clap on the back. This time Castiel couldn’t hold back the wince, and of course Dean noticed.

“Cas? You OK?” He said with a worried frown.

“I am perfectly fine, thank you, Dean. I just ran into the occasional monster and was forced to deal with the situation. I can assure you, the monsters came off much worse,” Cas replied, hoping that his poker-face would be enough to convince the brothers.

Thankfully, it was. And Castiel tried very hard not to be hurt by how easily Dean let it go. It was counter-productive, and would only cause Castiel more pain in the end.

***

The rest of the evening went much the same way; Dean and Sam asking questions about Castiel’s time away and Castiel skirting round the details. Finally, after he had been fed and thoroughly grilled for information, Dean showed Castiel to a spare room.

“So, uh…just call me if you need anything, yeah?” Dean said, standing slightly awkwardly in the doorway. “I’m just down the hallway.”

“Thank you, Dean,” replied Cas, wanting nothing more than to sink into his bed and sleep for a week.

“Right. Cool.” Dean said, shuffling out of the door. Then he paused for a moment. “Good to have you back, Cas,” he said, then disappeared. 

Castiel turned and began to peel off his clothes, which were starting to smell and were a relief to get out of. His jeans and boxers hit the floor, closely followed by his hoodie and shirt. He was just bending over to take off his socks when he was interrupted by a strangled gasp from behind. He whirled round to see Dean standing frozen in the doorway, holding a towel. They stared at each other in silence for several moments before Dean spoke.

“I…I just thought you might want a clean towel, so I…what the _Hell_ happened to you, Cas? And don’t give me that `it was a monster’ crap, because monsters _don’t_ leave _handprints and bruises all over your butt_! Tell me what happened, Cas!”

Dean was staring at Castiel with a desperate look on his face, his eyes clearly begging Castiel not to tell him what he had already guessed.

But Castiel was too tired, too sore and too heartsick to humour him.

“I had to eat, Dean,” he said in a monotone. Dean made a choked-off noise like a wounded animal, and crossed the room to seize Castiel by the shoulders.

“You did _not_ need to do _that_ , Cas!” He hissed, shaking Castiel for good measure. Castiel gasped with pain as the shaking jarred his many injuries, and Dean let him go as if he had been burned. “ _Shit_ , if I’d known, I could have-”

“You told me to stay away, Dean,” said Castiel – not to lay blame on Dean but to remind him of unavoidable circumstance. He didn’t know how he felt when Dean flinched as though Castiel had slapped him. “You _had_ to, in order to save Sam. And I can take care of myself.”

“But it’s _wrong!”_ Dean shouted. Castiel bristled at that. He’d met too many prostitutes who had been forced into that life or even who genuinely enjoyed what they did to allow Dean to judge like that.

“Since when have you been so morally conscientious?” he asked frostily. “Especially when you’re talking about sex, which you _clearly_ don’t have a prob--” he was interrupted by Dean swearing explosively and clutching Castiel’s shoulders again, this time even more tightly.

“It’s _wrong,_ ” Dean repeated, “because you should _never_ be with anyone but _me_ , you hear, Cas?”

Castiel couldn’t believe his own ears. Dean Winchester, _wanted_ him? And was _admitting_ it? Impossible. But then Castiel stared into the green eyes that had entranced him long ago, saw how they were open and bare with Dean’s emotions. Love, anguish, guilt, pain, exhaustion; all the things he saw whenever he looked into his righteous man’s eyes. He also saw the truth of what Dean had said, and finally let the words penetrate down to his very soul.

Castiel let go, giving in to this _thing_ between them that had threatened to drive him _mad_ with want.  He flung his arms up and around Dean’s neck, burrowing his face into Dean’s collarbone.

“I hear, Dean,” he said, voice muffled by emotion and Dean’s skin. To his surprise and chagrin, he felt a lump rising in his throat. “I ne-- I never wanted anyone else.” He let go then, letting the tears fall quietly into Dean’s warm skin as the pent-up feelings of loss and cheapness and self-loathing poured out.

He could hear Dean murmuring words of comfort and care, words he thought he’d never hear from the proud man.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Cas. I never should have made you leave. Killed me, having you gone.”

Castiel let the words act as a balm as he cried it out. Dean held him through it, petting gently through his hair, and humming soft and deep. When Castiel had finally cried himself out, Dean drew back a little so he could wipe at the tear-tracks with his thumb.

“How about I run you a nice hot bath and we take care of those bruises?”

Castiel nodded. “As long as you stay with me,” he replied. Dean smiled.

“Never want you away from my arms again,” he murmured.

Wonders would never cease.

***

After a long, hot soak (which commenced once Castiel had managed to persuade Dean to join him in the tub, and after the former angel had reclined, triumphant and content against Dean’s chest as he massaged shampoo into Castiel’s scalp), Dean directed him to lie on his front so Dean could attend to the bruises and welts.

The aloe-vera salve was cold at first, but soon Castiel felt the burn and the deep, tired ache begin to fade as Dean chased away the pain with loving hands. Perhaps if it had been Sam who first found out he would have wanted to talk it through, find out how Castiel felt about it and how he was dealing with it, and let Castiel know that he was loved and supported.  Dean, however, was just as communicative, but not with words. Each touch from Dean was so full of love and acceptance, that Castiel felt it pushed into his very skin, giving him worth again.

Once Dean had finished with that area, he dropped a soft kiss on each of Castiel’s buttcheeks (making Castiel giggle, embarrassingly) before applying the salve to various other bruises. By the time he had finished, Castiel was mostly asleep, and complied easily when Dean rolled him under the covers, hopping in and pulling Castiel into his embrace a moment later. Castiel could feel their hearts beating together where Dean’s chest was pressed against his own. He felt like he was finally home. Finally worthy. Finally right where he belonged.

Before sleep claimed him entirely, though, Castiel had to be sure.

“Don’ make me leave y’again, Dean,” he slurred into the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder, sounding a lot more vulnerable than he’d intended. A kiss was dropped on his forehead, and Dean’s lips rested there as he replied.

 “Never again, Cas. You’re home now. With me.”          

**Author's Note:**

> PHEW! We made it through the angst, guys!
> 
> I have another 3 tumblr prompts to work through but if you have a need for fluff (or apparently angst now, too) that you think I can fulfill, you are more than welcome to leave me prompts either here or on my tumblr (my url is heckamightygadzooks) and I shall do my best to fill your world with the fluff. Or smut. Or angst. Whatever floats your boat. 
> 
> Also I adore feedback. Just you so all know...


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